P R 


576^ 


Ul25 







MINOR 

No. \rill. 



i THE GOLDEN FARMER; 



OR, 



^\^ JEMMY TWITCHER IN ENGLAND. 



A DOMESTIC DRAMA 
Vv IN TWO ACTS. 

WyVll VVITII THE STAGE BUSINESS, CAST OF CHARACTERS, 
^^f S RELATIVE POSITIONS, ETC. 

% - 



m 



^' 



NEW YORK : 
BKRFORD & CO., No. 2 ASTOR HOUSE. 

Doston: Rcd«nMg k, Co.— Philadr-lphia : S. G. Sh aan— Pittfibmgh : 
M P. Morse— CUarle.stou: Ainos Head.— Cinciniiaf . Robiii:^on A. Jones. 
—Mobile: M. Boulleiiict.— New Orlraiis: J. C. Alurgan.— Louisvill.v. J. 
H. Peutoii.— Rochester, N. V. : D. M. Dewey.— Wilmii»eto«i, N. C: J. 
H. Pierce.— Baltimore : Win. Taylor <fc Co, 

PRICE 1 2 1 - 2 C E N T S. 




E MINOR DRAMA; 



A. COLLECTION OF THE MOST FOFUIiAK 



Laf 



PETIT COMEDIES, VAUDEVILLES, BURLETTAS* 
TRAVESTIES, ETC. 

WITH CRITICAL REMARKS* 

ALSO THE STAGE BUSINESS, CASTS OF CHARACTERS, 
COSTUMES, RELATIVE POSITIONS, ETC. 



EACH DRAIVIA EMBELLISHED WITH AN ILLUSTRATIVE ENGRAVING. 



VOLUME 



CONTAINING 



THE IRISH ATTORNEY, 
BOOTS AT THE SWAN, 
HOW TO PAT THE RENT, 
THE LOAN OF A LOVER, 



THE DEAD SHOT, 

HIS LAST LEGS, 

THE INVISIBLE PRINCE, 

THE GOLDEN FARMER, 



WITH A PORTRAIT AND MEIVIOIR OF MR. JOHN SEFTQN. 



NEW YORKs 
BERFORD <te CO., No. 2 ASTOR HOUSE. 

1847. 



71? 57^4 



/ U 1/ p 



MEMOIR OF MR. JOHN SEFTON. 

The subject of this memoir was born in Liverpool, on the 15th 
of January, 1805, and was placed at a very early age in a law- 
yer's office ; but John did not seem to coincide with Blackstone, 
that human law is the perfection of human reason, and instead 
of poring over musty parchments and black-letter Acts of Par- 
liament, he was busily engaged in reading Shakspeare and 
" Riley's Itinerant," speedily finding therein reasons for turn- 
ing his back upon the law, and every thing connected with it. 
He therefore engaged in a very humble situation, but one more 
congenial to his feehngs, in the Liverpool theatre. As early as 
1824, he was gaining reputation as a member of Butler's compa- 
ny, at Harrowgate Spa ; and in 1825, at the Sheffield theatre, 
he became the friend and companion of some of the most pro- 
minent actors of the present day, acting Bombastes one night, Har- 
lequin another, and a Sirapkin in the ballet, or a dance between 
the play and farce, acquiring a reputation as a valuable member 
of any corps dramatique, taking rank, as an actor, with such 
men as De Camp, George Holland, Mitchell, (the present ma- 
nager of the Olympic in this city,) Samuel Butler, William 
Chapman, Miss Rock, Mrs. Vernon, (then Miss Fisher,) and 
others, of the same company, many of whom have since visited 
the United States. 

In 1827, Mr. Hallam made him a proposal, on behalf of 
Messrs. Simpson & Cowell, to cross the Atlantic — ^this he ac- 
cepted — and on the 25th of June we find a record of his first 
appearance in this country at the old Amphitheatre, (now the 
American Theatre,) Walnut street, Philadelphia, as Edward, in 
the '' Irishman in London." He does not appear to have made a 
very favourable impression upon his audience ; and remained in 
the shade, until he played Serjeant Drill in " The Pilot," when 



Vl MEMOIR OF JOHN SEFTON. 

the Philadelphians seemed to have awakened to a sense of his 
merit, as from that time he gradually advanced in their favour. 
In July, 1828, he made a very successful attempt at the Park 
theatre, as Finikin^ in " Giovanni in London," playing such a 
variety of business, that he astonished the veteran manager, Mr. 
Simpson, who parted from him with regret — ^when he was com'- 
pelled to fulfil a previous engagement entered into with Mr. W. 
B. Wood, for the new theatre erecting in Arch street, Philadel- 
phia, which opened on the 1st of October. 

The failure of Mr. Wood's theatre entailed many difficulties 
upon Mr. Sefton, which, after a hard struggle, he surmounted. 
We now, for a short time, lost sight of him altogether, but he 
was profitably engaged with De Camp in the South, and paid 
several flying visits to the Can ad as, where he was always an 
acceptable star. 

In 1833, Mr. Wemyss found him at the Tremont theatre, in 
Boston, and offered him " carte blanche," as regarded business, 
to join him on the opening of his new theatre in Pittsburgh, as 
the low comedian of the company. They met on the 2d of Sep- 
tember, to their mutual satisfaction. Here he remained until 
Wemyss returned to Philadelphia, as the manager of the Wal- 
nut street, whither he accompanied him, and at once became a 
lasting favourite with that public, before whom he had made his 
first appearance previously. It was here he laid the foundation 
of that fame which will always attach to his name as the repre- 
sentative of Jemmy Twitcher, in the " Golden Farmer." We 
cannot give a better account of this event than We find in We- 
myss' excellent book of " Twenty-six Years of the Life of an 
Actor and Manager," page 242, volume 2. 

" The first drama I produced was the ' Golden Farmer,' in 
which Mr. John Sefton laid the foundation of his theatrical 
fame. To him this part, which he at first refused to play (and 
to the last moment grumbled about), has put more money into 
his pocket t^an all the catalogue of parts he ever acted, put to- 
gether. At the Franklin theatre, in New York, under the ma- 
nagement of Mr. Dinneford, he played this part one hundred 
nights! during the first season — a thing without precedent in 
the annals of the American stage, before or since. 



MEMOIR OF JOHN SEFTON. Vii 

" Mr. Sefton had a clause in his articles of agreement with 
me, by which he possessed the right to choose his part in the 
dramatis personae, where there was more than one' low comedy 
part in the piece — he insisted upon playing Harry Hammer^ 
but Barrymore insisted he was the only man in the theatre fit 
for the thief in the ' Golden Farmer.' It was finally left to my 
decision ; and although John Wells Brown played Harry Ham- 
mer — much to the mortification of Sefton — yet I do not think 
my friend John had any cause to complain of the result, offend- 
ed although he was, by the choice, and he first played Jemmy 
Twitcher, as an act of favour towards me as the manager of the 
theatre. ' Vell^ vot ov it 7^ we know what we are, but the best 
among us knows not what he may be." 

At the close of the season, in July, 4 835, he left Philadelphia 
for New York, where he became an established favourite, at the 
Franklin theatre, during the tide of its prosperity. To Mr. John 
Sefton belongs the credit of establishing the Vaudeville Theatre 
at Niblo's— unfortunately no longer in existence — he presided 
over its destiny for four years, with skill and judgment. As an 
eccentric comedian he has few rivals, and no superior in the 
lighter walks of low comedy. 

In August, 1839, he accepted an offer made to him by Ray- 
mond & Co., to visit Europe with Carter, the Lion King, whose 
extraordinary feats astonished the English, French, Belgians, 
Hollanders, and Russians. 

In the gay capital of Paris he produced the French piece of 
*' Le Lion du Desert," and in St. Petersburgh had the honour 
of conversing, in his own capital, with the Czar of all the Rus- 
sias. In 1841 he returned to the United States, and played 
Jemmy Twitcher for eighteen successive nights, on his Arrival in 
New York. 

■ An account of his wanderings and doings with the Lions has 
been published in the London Literary Gazette. He is now in 
New York, preparing another version of Jemmy Tivitcher, the 
scenes of which are to be laid in America, and which is said to 
abound in wit and dramatic situation. No actor has had greater 
experience in adapting local dramas, nor succeeds better; 
therefore the public may expect much diversion from this last 
effort of his eccentric and excellent pen. f. c. w- 



, 







THE GOLDEN FARMER. 

Jemviy Twitcher. [Suspended to one of the spilus by the kind part of his ip- 
expressibles.] Murder! Murder! Tliioves! Aft I. Scene I. 



THE MINOR DRAMA. 

No. VIII. 



THE GOLDEN FARMER 

OR, 

JEMMY TWITCHER IN ENGLAND. 

21 ©omcsttc JDrama 

IN TWO AgTg^ 
By benjamin ' WEBSTER, Comedian. 



WITH THE STAGE BUSINESS, CAST OF CHARACTERS, 
RELATIVE POSITIONS, ETC. 



NEW YORK r 
BERFORD & CO., No. 2 ASTOR HOUSE. 

1S47. 



'^ 



EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION. 

This excellent piece is among the first of that class of domes- 
tic dramas, which, in consequence of their faithful portraiture of 
every-day, fire-side feelings and occurrences, never fail to awa- 
ken our afFectionsi and draw largely on our sympathies. It has 
often been compared to " The Rent-Day ;" but it is unquestion- 
ably inferior to that drama in language, whilst it as undeniably 
excels it in the novelty of the plot and in the unceasing recur- 
rence of highly comic situations. It brings us, it is true, into not 
very reputable company at times ; but this is amply redeemed 
by the devoted tenderness of the wife and mother, and the lesson 
afforded by the father in his noble efforts to leave the path of 
vice for that of virtue, and his subsequent sufferings for his 
temporary relapse. 

This drama has the rare merit of having been played in the 
city of New York a greater number of times than any other 
piece. Its representations have there probably amounted to 
over three hundred ; whilst throughout the United States they 
would perhaps amount to as many more. Mr. John Sefton, 
as Jemmy Twitcher, has become identified with this piece ; and 
by his original and inimitable manner of performing that charac- 
ter, has added exceedingly to its success. Mr. Burton, too, is 
remarkably happy in his delineation of the intoxicated auction- 
eer ; and when his " Going — going — gone !" and the " Vel — vot 
of it ?" of Sefton, are combined, it would be impossible to name 
another piece which will keep its audience in such irresistible 
and unremitting laughter. 

As a proof of the uniform and extraordinary success of this 
drama, we would remark, that on its last production in New 
York, for Mr. Sefton's benefit at the Bowery, (the 12th June, 
1847,) the astonishing number of three thousand two hundred 
and forty-nine persons were present, independent of the free 
list. We wish every actor of merit could secure such a house 
at his benefit. 



CAST OF CHARACTERS, 



Park, 1847. 

The Goldeji Warmer, Mr. Stark. 

Harrtj Hammer " A.Andrews. 

OldMolb " Sutherland. 

William, Tlarveij " Chanfrau. 

Jemmy Tzeitcher '' John Scfton. 

Lord Fitzallan 

Joh7i " Povey. 

Thomas " Gallot. 

First Officer " Heath. 

Second Officer " Milot. 

Elizabeth Mrs. Hunt. 

Louisa Miss S. Denn}'. 

Mrs. Hammer Miss Flynn. 

Jenny Mrs. B urrows. 

Villagers, 



Philadelphia. 
Mr. Fredericks. 
" Hadawaj'. 
" Becket. 
" Henkins. 
" John Sefton. 
'^ Hackurst. 
" Reed. 
" Wilson. 
" Germon. 

Miss C. Cushman. 

" Kinloch. 

" Reed. 
Mrs. Hackerst. 
Peasants, ifC. 



Baltimore. 

Mr. Jamieson. 
" Burton. 
" Mattliews. 
" Mossop. 
" John Seftoru 
" Garner. 
" Gill. 
" Henry. 
" Benson. 

Mrs. ai'Leau. 

" Henry. 
Miss Kincade. 

" ReynoIcU. 



COSTUMES. 

GOLDEN FARMER.— Black velveteen coat, red waistcoat, white breeches, leather 

g.iiters. 
OLD MOBB. — Gray coat, drab great coat, scarlet waistcoat, cord breeches, black 

boots, slouch liat, and belt round the waist. 
HARRY HAMMER. — Black coat and breeches, boots, white waistcoat, and wig^. 
WILLIAM HARVEY. — A regimental suit of the Horse Guards, about forty years 

ago. 
JEMMY TWITCHER.—Red waistcoat with sleeves, dirty corderoy breeches, black 

stockings, old small white hat with crape around it. 
EARL FITZALLAN.— Court suit, black. 

ELIZABETH.—Slate coloured gown, plain neat cap, and white kerchie^, 
MRS. HAMMER.— Old-fashioned printed gown, mob cap. 
LOUISA.— Printed cotton frock. 



EXITS AND ENTRANCES. 

R. means Right j L. Left; R. D. Right Door; L. D. Left Door; 
S. E. Second Entrance ; U. E. Upper Entrance; M. D. Middle Door, 

RELATIVE POSITIONS. 
R., means Right; L., Left ; C, Centre ; R. C, Right of Centre; 
L. C, Left of Centre. 



THE GOLDEN FARMER. 



ACT I . 

Scene 1. — A Farm House r. Sd e. and Farm Yard — a 
paling crossing from R. to l — distant country — Labour- 
ers discovered, having finished stacking the last sheaf 
of corn — a Harvest Home — a tahle loith jugs of ale, l. 

CHORUS. — Labourers. 

Home, lads, home, 
Our labour being done, 
By the cheerful wood fire-side 
We'll all care deride ; 
We'll laugh and/iuaff 
Till night comes on, 
So home, neighbours, home. 

John. Here's the Golden Farmer, with dree times dree, 
not forgetting his dear wife and child ! 
All. Hurra ! — hurra ! — hurra ! 

Enter The Golden Farmer fro7n tlie house, r. u. e. 

Far. Thanks, my friends ! Good ale and good cheer 
be yours till you can't trudge ! You've worked well, and 
heaven has smiled on our labours ; and may I ne'er know 
a good end, but you shall share the good fortune fate has 
awarded me — so drink and be jolly ! 

John. And we'll gie you a good cheer, measter, for one 
good cheer deserves another. — Hurra ! 

All. Hurra! 

Far. Then away, lads, to the kitchen, and wind up your 
sports with a. good jorum of q^^ flip. 

\Excuiit Peasants, r. u. e. 



6 THE GOLDEN FARMER. [AcT I. 

Enter Elizabeth and JjOvisa, from tlie house^ r. u. e. 

Eli. Oh, Jiusband ! how it joys my heart to see you 
every day become more and more beloved by those 
around you ; and that the gloom which used to cloud your 
brow, from some unknown cause, seems dissipated. I have 
often wondered how one so kind and charitable could ever 
know a moment's care. 

Far. (r. c.) Bess, ray girl, do not, do not ^remind me 
of what I've striven to forget — prayed to forget ! — I hope 
the prayers of a repentant man have not been unheeded 
by Him, who has dispensed me more good than I deserve, 
in blessing me with thee and my dear child. 

Eli. (c.) What can a man, so innately correct as 1 have 
always known you to be, have ever done to speak thus ! 
Every thing thrives with you : your cattle and corn seem 
to bring tenfold return. 

Far. True, true ; it seems so, indeed. 

Eli. When neighbouring farmers are continually com- 
plaining of the robberies committed upon dealers on their 
return from market, have you not alv/ays escaped ] 

Far. True, true again, Bess. 

Eli. And when you come home weary with work, have 
you not your bonny Bess to comfort you, eh ! 

Lou, And your little pet to sit upon your knee, father 1 

Far. Bless ye — bless ye, both ! [Kissing tkem.] You've 
proved my better angels. — Ere I knew you, ay, and since, 
for a time the voice of gain, either by honest or dishonest 
means, had taken possession of my breast, to an almost 
miserly feeling; but your bright example has taught my 
heart to flow with better thoughts. 

Eli. If this be my doing, not a day shall pass but I will 
pour out my gratitude to Heaven. 

Far. Yes, my bonny Bess, yes ; with this farm, which 
is now my own, I can hold np my head against the freaks 
of fortune. It will more than supply all our wants while 
living, and, when dead, be a pretty portion for our child. 

Lo?f. Don't talk of dying, father; I could not live with- 
out mother and you. 

Far. But come, come — this is but melancholy talk ; we , 
must be merry, ay, and make others so. So, away, lass, 
and prepare our harvest supper. 



SCEKK I.] THli GOLDKN FAliMEK. 7 

Eli. I will. George, I will^ and from this time let no- 
thing mar our happiness. 

L(m. Kiss me, father, [ife kisses he?\] Ay, but you must 
kiss mother, tf)0. [ He Jiisscs his wife. 

\^Excunt Elizabeth and Louisa into the hovsc^ r. 3J e. 

Far. Wliat a happy fellow I ought to be ! — and why 
should I not 1 I will! — I will !-— 1 need not commit my- 
self any more ^ hei'e I may pass my days in quiet; fear- 
less that, in the Golden Farmer, who is ever tilling and 
toiling, turning the earth and the penny, any one would 
recognize me for aught els-e. 

Hammer, [ Without, l.] If you little boys dare to call 
after me again, I'll knock you down, and my fist slmli 
serve for the hammer. 

Enter Hammer, l. 

Impertinent imps \ to call after me — a respectable auc- 
tioneer, and to dare apply to me the technicalities of my 
professional calling! — Ah! you'll a bad lot; and the 
next time I pass you, you shall mind my bidding. 

Far. (c.) What has ruffled you. Master Hammer ? 

Ham. (l. c.) Why, 1 just now winked at a pretty girl 
I met in the village of Ham, but sho didn't take my bid- 
ding ; and as I walked off, some little snivelling puppies 
presumed to say — going^ — g"o^"o — g^^i^e ! — Now, I am not 
a damaged bit of goods, but an article I can recommend 
to any respectable female with a small matter of money, 
inclined to matrimony. — Bless you, I can't help winking 
at the girls — I seem to have caught it of my bidders, and, 
as if by instinct, transfer it to my bidders ; but they ne- 
ver say, " Thank you,'' as I do, when any one winks at 
me, but always wish to be going— going, till I am gone. 
I'm called all over the country the Hamorous Hammer of 
Hampshire — I've often thought what an odd way of bid- 
ding that winking is. Do you know, I once sold a whole 
library of black-letter tracts by winks ; not a soul spoke 
a syllable, till I began to think every work I sold was 
Wynkia de Worde's. 

Far. [Lavghing.] Ha, ha, ha ! — Well, 3'ou'll excuse my 
Mstenins: to you any longer, as I must attend to the com- 
forts of my labourers at their harvesl-horne supper, and 
if you will join us, you're welcomes 



8 THE GOLDEN FARMER. [Act I. 

Ham. Thank you, sir — I take your bidding ; but before 
you're gone, I wish to tell you I've something .worth your 
notice — a messuage. 

Far. From whom ? 

TJnrn. [Laug7ii?ig-.] Ha, ha, ha! a good joke; but I'm 
seriuQj. T.he messuage I mean is a small freehold in the 
neighbou:"'i'^od here. 

Par. Well, v^-liat of that ] 

Tlim. You know the highway 1 

Far. \ Surprised.] Why, yes. 

Ham. That I'll be sworn you do, as well as any man in 
the county, for you must have travelled it night and day. 

Far. [ Uneasy.] What mean you ? 

Hain. Listen ! — You know that small house and grounds 
by the side of the main road, that juts into the very heart 
of your farm, and almost spoils its compactness % 

Far. To be sure ; it was my chief objection to the pur- 
chase of this farm, when I left off being a corn-factor in 
London, and came here to pass the remainder of my days, 
two years ago. But I hope to make it a good farm yet, 
by adding to it every year. That plot of land I bought 
last year was not a bad bargain. 

Ham. No; you bougliL it of me. Well, now, my Gold- 
en Farmer, (you'll excuse my calling you so, but your 
great good luck with your grain has given you tliat cog- 
nomen all over the country,) here's a golden opportunity 
for you — tliat very house and ground is to be sold ! 

Far. [£?(2^e7'Zy/.] Indeed ! 

Ham. Indeed, and I have the selling of it. It must be 
sold — disposed of instanter, as the money is wanted. It's 
being a capital bit, two or three have offered for it, to 
whom answers will be given by twelve to-morrow. Now, 
as I know it must be worth more to you than any one 
else, if you choose to out-bid them, it is yours. 

Far. [Aside.] My recent purchases have left me almost 
without a pound, — [Aloud.] By twelve to-morrow, say 

youl 

Ham. It will be gone to the highest bidder. You'll 
never have such another opportunity. 

Far. [Aside.]- How to raise the money ! It is impossi- 
ble to cart my corn to market, and dispose of it in so short 
a time. — [To Hammer.] What sum will irake it mine 1 



Scene I.] , THE GOLDEN FARMER. 9 

Ham. Two hundred and fifty pounds — it's dirt cheap ! 

Far. [Abstractedly.] Yes — yes — yes ! 

Ham. What do you hesitate about, man ! That parcel 
of land, small as it is, will nearly double the value of your 
' farm. 

Far. True — true ! Go in, go in, and I'll think of it. 

Ham. I will, I will. — [Looking in.] Upon my word, a. 
very pretty assortment of things both on and around the 
table, but I see no horns — that's singularly odd. [Farmer 
appears impatient to he left alone.] I'm going — I appear to 
be just in pudding time — going — that chap's mouth is 
quite an open prospect — a tenant at will — from ear to 
ear — going — gone. [Exit into the Jiouse, r. 3tZ e. 

^Far. It must be mine — it shall — but how % ay, how ? 
how % There's no way but one, and that's the highway. 
A night's ride will give me the means, and I ne'er yet 
failed. It shall be so. — [Going\ What am I about ! What 
devil has this land conjured up, to tempt me to my old 
courses. 

GLEE— Within. 

Here's success to the honest soul, 

And happy may he be ; 
But the good man's curse. 

And naught in his purse, 
To every rogue, say we ! 

Far. Heaven be thanked ! the voices of those upright 
hearts have perhaps saved me from an ignominious end. 
For five years I have led a guiltless life, dnd I will not 
sully the fair name I have earned during that time, for a 
little soil; and heaven may grant to virtue' what to crime 
it would in the end surely deny. [Glee repeated. Exit, r. 
[^4 dog is Jieard to hark, and Jemmy Twitcher cries out, 
" Oh, lord ! oh, dear !'' Other voices cry, " Stop 
thief/" and immediately after Jemray Tioitcher is 
seen : his clothes are torn and ragged, and his gene- 
ral appearance hearing the marks of a London prig 
out of luck — he stands in c, hesitating ivhich road 
to take, hastily runs off, l., when John and Thomas 
enter, r. u. e., and exeunt in cJiase of Jemmy, l. 

Enter John cmd Thomas, dragging in Jemmy Twitcher, l. 

Jem. [Dropping o?i his knees.] Veil, don't vorry me to 
depoth, and I surrenders at discretion. 



10 THE GOLDEN FAllMEK. [Act I. 

JoJm. So we ha' caught you at last, have we. 

Jem. Veil, vot ov it % I an't done nothin. 

Tho, Didn't we see you stealing out of the hen-roost % 

Jem. [PvUing his hands hehind hi???,] Veil, I only vant- 
ed to rest myself, and I must lie someveres. 

John. Ha, but we won't ha' none o' your lies here. Why, 
what hast thee got in thy hands, now? [They force his 
hands forward, and discover an egg in each.] Why, if he 
han't been stealing the eggs ! 

Je?n. I didn't suck 'em. 

Tho. No, but you were a-going. 

Jem. (r. c.) Veil, vot ov it ! Bean't you never hungry ? 
Since you makes such a fuss about 'em, there they is agin ; 
and now I'll tip my rags a gallop. [Ihms up to c, they 
folloia, and drag him back again to front of stage, 

John. No, you don't, though, till we've given you a 
duck for your supper. 

Jem. You're werry kind, but I don't vant any wictuals, 
thank you. 

John. Then why did you steal the eggs ] 

Jem. Veil, they varn't duck-eggs. 

Juh77. You shall see they were, and into the horse-pond 
you go. [ They lay hold of him. 

J^m. Oh !~Murder !— Help !— Murder ! 

F>nter the Golden Farmer, Elizabeth, Hammer, and eve- 
ry body, rmming out of the Farm-house, r. 3rZ e. 

Ham. Somebody's being knocked down ! 

Far. What's the matter here 1 

John. W^hy, sur, missus sent us for some eggs for the 
ecrcr-flip, and when we got there w^e found this chap had 
been there before ; howsomdever, the dog laid hold of 
him, and we caught him in a twinkling. 

Jem. Ay, he did lay hold of me, and no mistake. Look 
at me here. 

\SJiows thefaps of his coat completely torn away. 

Tho. And so we were going to duck him for liis pains. 

Je7n. Veil, sich doctors as you I never heard of afore. 
If you please, sir, I'm a poor indivvidual vot is starvin for 
vant of some'at to eat. 1 longed for an og^ vorser than 
ever my- mother did. 
- TJio. Ay, but you stole thera. 



Scene I.] THE GOLDEN FARMER. 11 

Jem. [l. co7'ner.] Veil, vot ov it 1 Did you never ] 

Ham. Knock him down — I'm the bidder. 

Far. Stay ; it were a good act to reclaim this youth 
from his vicious course; and, if I thought he would be- 
come honest, he should not want for bed or board. 

\Crosses to l. 

Jein. [Graditally raising his eyes, and recognizing the 
Farmer.] Hey ! What, my bold Captain Strike ! 

Far. [Aside to Jemmy.^ Another word, and it is your 
last. 

Ham. What d'ye say ] [Crosses to Farmer. 

Jem. Veil, vot ov it ? Some calls their masters squires, 
some calls 'em goveners ; now I always calls 'em cap- 
tains — and he's a bold vone to take me into his house 
without knowing me, and I vas going to say. Bold Cap- 
tain, strike hands on it. 

Far. True, true. But come, friends, [Crosses hack to c] 
let us in, or our evening mirth will lose somewhat of its 
flavor. I will see what can be done with this poor wretch, 
and join you instantly. [Exeunt all hut Farmer and Jemmy 
into the house, r. Zd e.J And now, you devil's bird, what 
evil genius has sent you croaking here ] 

Jem. Veil, vot ov it, captain ] I vas only a sinivating 
myself into the back premises. 

Far. To commit a paltry theft. 

Jem. Veil, vot ov it ] Natur's natur. You knows very 
veil, that from a babby my genus never would compass 
anything greater. Law, if I could do as you and Loo- 
tenant Barton, as gambles so, used to do in Marlborough 
forest, I vouldn't change — no, not with the duke on't. 
Vhy, there's more vhales on my back than in Bearing 
Straits — more stripes than there is on a nigger. 

Far. Can you be honest 1 

Jem. I never tried. 

Far. Well, then, the sooner you begin the better. 
Come in and change that garb of thine, which almost 
smells of thievery, and I'll see what can be done for thee. 

[Going into house. 

Jem. But I must go and let Old Mobb know. 

[Moving to L. 

Far. Old Mobb 1 I thouorht he was dead. 

Jem. Only transported. He was sent to the hulks, and 



12 THE GOLDEN f\'iKMEPv. [Act I. 

by his good 'haviour got made an overseer ; but the other 
day he was overlooked, and give the lagging coves the 
go by. 

Far. Ay, he was always the deepest and slyest fellow 
at a scheme. 

Jem. He's for a new start, and sent me here. 

Far. For what *? 

Jem. Vhy, hearing a good deal about the Golden Far- 
mer, not knowing it vas you, he thought there must be a 
good haul out of the house of the man vith such a name ; 
vhen he had made all right, he meant to pay you a visit, 
and noitre your premises to-night. 

Far. \^Startled.] Good Heavens ! 

Jem. Good Heavens ! How you're altered. — Vhy, you 
used to say, damnation. 

Far. This must be prevented. [Exit into house, l. 

Jem. [Looking after /ii?n.] Vhy, you're not going to be- 
tray, are you 1 

[ Old Mohh rushes on Jcmrtiy, and drags him down. 

Mohb. [Prese?iting a pisiol at his head.] So, you serpent 
— you've been blabbing, have you 1 

Jem. [Dreadfully frightened.] Veil, vot ov it % 

Mohb. Why, that you shall die the death of a dog, you 
mealy-mouthed cur ! 

Jem. Vhy, you need'nt rob a friend's honour. 

Mobb. What do you mean 1 

Jem. Vhy, that very Golden Farmer is your old pal, 
Captain Strike. 

Mobb. No ! 

Jem. It is, s'help my Bob. 

Mobb. How disappointing. 

Je?n. Werry. 

Mobb. How did you find this out ? 

Jem. Vith my eyes. 

Mobb. Does he still ride out by night, to lighten the 
way of weary travellers 1 

Jem. No, he's not a commoner now ; he's given up ho- 
nor for honesty, 

Mobb. Honesty ! ha ! ha ! ha ! honesty ! Why, it's 
not in the blood of the man. Captain Strike turn ho- 
nest 1 Pooh ! pooh ! He's been fooling thee, boy. 

Je?n. It's true, or may my fork never dive into a pocket 
again. 



Sci:n£ I.] 



THE GOLDEN FARMER. 13 



Mohh. I'll soon show you a light on that subject. 
"Where is he ? 

Jem. No, don't, Master Mobb, or he'll vop me. I gets 
so many voppings now, that I don't like to be vopped. 
« Mobb. I should like to catch him at it. 

Jem. Veil, I shouldn't. Do you know, vhen 1 told him 
vhat I was corned here for, he trembled like a haspen leaf, 
and bundled his body into the house, saying, it must be 
prevented. 

Mobb. What ! does he think I'm so lost to honour ? 
the name of a friend is a better safeguard to his house 
than all the bolts, bars, dogs, .9,nd bull-dogs he could mus- 
ter. 



Enter the Golden Fj^-rmee, hastily, r. u. e. 

Far. Now, Jemmy, if I find you can be trusted, I'll 
make a man of you. [Seeiiig^^^ehi).^ What do I see 1 

Mobb. [Coming to hi?n.] An old friend. [Offering his 
hand.] Won't you give us your^ hand % 

Far. No, no ; we must be strangers. I 

Mobb. Strangers ! This is not the vvay to mak| us so. 
Psha ! you are joking. You can't have forgotten how 
you grasped this old limb six .years ago, as if your heart 
were in your hand, and vowed you'd «hare my good or 
evil fortune. ]^" 

Jem. [Aside.] I'll cut my stick," and see vhat I can pick 
up in an honest vay. [Exit into house, r. 2d e. 

Far. Look you, Mobb — I vowed that, when blinded 
by guilt ; I've since seen my error, though not till lately. 
Soon after we parted, in my feigned character of corn- 
dealer, I became known to and married a woman in whom 
I found virtue was not a name, but part and parcel of 
herself; and the force of example has wrought a greater 
change in me than could all the sermons that were ever 
preached. Still, unknown to her, and tempted by the 
love of gain, I occasionally continued my old courses, till 
I had amassed a sufficient sum to purchase this farm ; 
then, having placed her above the reach of poverty, I 
endeavoured, by a sincere repentance, to atone for my 
former crimes. 

Mobb. This may be so, but I can't very well under- 
stand it. Well, since you refuse me your friendship, let 



14 THE GOLDEN FARMER. [Act I. 

US to business. As you are so well off in the world, lend 
me fifty pounds, and you shall never clap eyes on me 
again. 

Far. I can't — I haven't a pound in the world. 

Mobh. Then you must assist me to get it ; for the blood- 
hounds are in full cry after me, and if I don't quit the 
country, I shall be run down. In some foreign clime I 
may, perhaps, better my fortune, and afford to be honest. 
Italy seems a good place for one of our craft — I beg your 
pardon — ray craft ; for there people love to be pillaged, 
because the robbers wear fine dresses and have fine names. 

Far. But how — how am 1 to assist you ? 

Mohh. You see, as old considerations prevent my crack- 
ing your ken to-night, as I intended, I must turn again 
to a noble prize, which I was obliged to give up in des- 
pair, through Bill Barton being lagged on the road, and 
it requiring more than one dexterous hand to accomplish. 
Now, in all England, if you arn't forgotten your old 
trade, I couldn't find a better to supply his place nor you. 

Far, I ! 

Mohh. You ! — damn it, don't stare so, man ! — One 
would think you had never had your finger in such a pie 
before ! — Listen : the day I escaped from the hulks, I 
learned by accident the affairs of two brothers, who live 
at a great distance from each other, who are both equally 
rich, and both keep considerable sums on their premises 
to carry on their trade of usury; but their money is so 
concealed under their beds, that it would be impossible 
to get at it without disturbing them ; and the consequence 
of making them bleed would be murder. You know that 
is a branch of our profession I have always objected to. 
Now these two brothers each pray for the other's death, 
that he may enjoy the other's property. Well, taking 
advantage of this, myself, Bill Barton, and two others, 
addressed a letter to each of the brothers, informing him 
of the other's death, and desiring their immediate attend- 
ance at each other's residence. This we know will be 
quite enough to start them on their journey ; and we con- 
trived that the letter should arrive at such a time, that 
they will be enabled to perform about half their journey 
by ten or eleven this very night. Fear of us gents of the 
road, and the expense, will not let them travel any other 



SctlfE I.] 



THE GOLDEN FARMER. 15 



way than by the stage, and that only goes by day. 'Tis 
not far from hence ; so you've only to mount your horse, 
put Jemmy on his crupper to spy out for us (for my horse 
is too jaded, to carry more than one), and this night we 
niake a rich booty — five hundred pounds at least, half of 
which you shall have for your trouble. 

Far. No — no — no — no ! 

Mobb. Then lend me the fifty pounds. 

Far. I can't. 

Mobb. Then you must do the other. 

Far. Must! 

Mobb. Come, come — no big looks with me ; I'm too 
old a soldier to be frightened by a popgun — -I must either 
beg or borrow ; but as the latter is most gentlemanly, I 
prefer it. If you won't lend, 1 must find a friend else- 
where : — but mark me — by hell ! if I'm taken for want 
of means to effect my escape, I'll not be hanged alone — 
you understand me. 

Far. Consider my wife and child : should this enter- 
prise fail, and aught ill come of it, it would break their 
hearts. 

Mobb. I've felt the tender passion, and know what it is 
Vsben once a pretty woman has twined herself round a 
man's heart ; but when a halter's round a man's neck, 
charity begins at home. I don't see why your hand 
should push me off the ladder. 

Enter Hammer, r. u. e., drunk, with " damaged goods'* 
chalked on his back. ^ 

Ham. I've been bidding every body good night, till 
they bid me get out ; and now I'm going, going — [^Reels 
against Mobb,] I beg your pardon, sir. 

Mobb. Begone ! 

Ham. Thank you, sir — I take your bidding. — \Bows 
himself against the Farmer.] I beg your pardon. Oh, lord, 
is it you 1 I say, your ale is very strong, particularly when 
mixed with brandy, I say, I'm going ! Think of the 
messuage. — \Laughing.] Ha! ha! Who from ! That's a 
good one ! But recollect, two hundred and fifty pounds 
before twelve to-morrow. Ha ! ha ! Who from 1 Going, 
going, gone. [Exzt, l. 

Mobb. Now, what say you 1 You must decide between 



16 THE GOLDEN FARMEE. [Act I. 

a loan of the fifty, the venture for two hundred and fifty, 
or the gallows : I'll admit of no parley. 

Far. [Aside.] Two hundred and fifty pounds is the sum 
would buy this land. 'Tis but one more venture, and 
that I am compelled to make, and I swear it shall be the 
last. 

Mohh. Come, decide, for time presses. 

Far. May I depend on your secresy, and your imme- 
diately leaving the country 1 

Mobh. You may; and Old Mobb never pledged his 
word to a falsehood, not if it were to the devil. 

Far. But are you sure the adventure is as safe as you 
say? 

Mohh. He keeps no servant, and consequently his house 
will be empty. Besides, it stands far from any human 
habitation. Psha ! shan't we have Jemmy with us to pi- 
lot the way % 

Far. True, true. You're sure the booty is at least five 
hundred pounds % 

Mohh. I am. 

Far. And I am to have half? 

Mohh. I'll ensure it you. 

Far. Then I'll do it. 

Mohh. Ah, ha ! I thought you were not dead to all feel- 
ing. Your hand upon it. 

Far. [Giving his Jiand.] There ! 

Mohh. And now let's away as speedily as possible. 

Far. Stay ! I've sad forebodings ; my wife, my child ! 

Mohh. Psha, man ! think of them to-morrow. I have 
disguises in my saddle-bag. Rouse thee ! '^hink of two 
hundred and fifty pounds for a few hours' ride. 

Far. True, true. Come on, then. 

[Music. — Exeunt into the house^ r. ^d E. 

Scene II. — Interior of the Farm. 
Enter Jem3IY Twitcher, l. 

Jem. [Peeping aho7it,] I'm picking up my crumbs here, 
howsomdever ; I've boned this child's coral, [Producing a 
child's carol,] a feminine's night cap, [Shows nightcap,] a 
top of the pepper castor, [Takes out pepper castor^ and this 
pocket pistol of brandy. [Shows small hlack hottle.] Come, 



Scene II.] THE GOLDEN FARMER. ]? 

4 

that's none so vurser. Apples and eggs have been the 
werry extent of my priggings for the last month. I vish I 
had a geni for highvaishness. It's wery odd as I can't 
'complish a burglary or a high vay job ; but vhenever I at- 
tempts it, I funks so, that 1 am sure to put my foot in it. 
I can spy out, and put others on the track, but I can't do 
the thing itself I never cried Stand ! but to one man ; 
and I'm blowed if he didn't make me valk five miles to 
the next magistrate, who, on account of my youth, com- 
mitted me as a wagabond for three months. I vonce tried 
my hand cracking a ken ; veil, I sinivated myself in, but 
I got so feared, that, curse me, if I could get out ; and 
vhen the servants found me in the morning, they gave me 
a good ducking. Now, Old Mobb is an hero, and so is 
the captain ; they never fails, vhereby they never loses. 
Ever since I vas a little kinchen, I've looked and vonder- 
ed at that Old Mobb, till I've loved him as if he vas my 
own natral father. I vish he vas ; then he'd nitiate me 
into the mystery of them ere concarns. \Reiires, r. 

Enter John and Thomas, a little tipsy, and others, with. 
Jenny and their ivives. 

Jenny. Come, John — now come home, — thee's had 
enough. 

John. Well, I think 1 have, wench; so let's all go 
whoam. 

All. Ay, ay. 

Tho. Let's ha* t'other sup. 

John. Shall us ] 
Wives, No, no, no. 

John. Well, then, gie us a buss all round, and we won't 
■ — but go home like good peaceable souls. — Now I'll give 
the word in milentary fashion : make ready, present, fire ! 
[ The 7nen all kiss their wives — Jemmy comes forward, l. 
corner, at the time, and kisses one of the girls unawares — 
she screams out.j What's that for ] Why, if that egg- 
stealer han't been stealing a kiss ! 

Je?n. Veil, vot ov it — didn't you say fire 1 

John. Well, and what if I did 1 

Jem. Vhy, I obeyed orders, and fired accordingly. 

John. Oh, you did, did you, Mr. Egg-sucker ? Now, 
girls, set to and sarve him out. [The tvomen pi?ich Jetnmy. 



18 THE GOLDEN FARMER. fAcT I. 

Jem. [Running about] Oh, murder, murder ! [ T/ie wo- 
men knock his hat over his eyes — the men take their 
wives under their left arms and go off, r., leaving 
Jenny and John. 
Jenny. Take care how you insult a respectable woman 
again. \Takes the left arm of John., and exits with him, l. 
Jemmy takes her neck handkerchief. 
Jem. Oh, crikee, if I shan't be more bluer nor a blue 
bottle ! — Vomen are so spiteful ; ever since a paradise 
were lost, they've had a touch of the old serpent in 'em. 
Niver mind, I've boned one of their pocket handker- 
chiefs. 

E?if.er MoBB, r. 

Mohh. You, Jemmy, away to where my horse is fas- ^ 
tened in the copse, and bide my coming. 

yTurns to \i., and primes pistol. 

Jem. Aye, Master Mobb. — [Aside.] There's some noble 
vork in hand, I varrants, and I shall have a hand in it. 
Who knows but I may live to have the honour of being 
hung between Mr. Mobb and Captain Strike. [Exit, l. 

Enter The Golden Farmer, r. 

Far. My mind misgives me. 

Mohh. Psha, man ! you let this same virtue play tricks 
with your courage ; your moral rogues are ever cowards. 

Enter Elizabeth, r. 

Eli. (r. c.) George, where are you going 1 and who is , 
this strange looking man % 

Far. (c.) He's a cattle dealer from the north, who tells 
me that some twenty miles off he has some bargains worth 
looking after. , - 

Eli. But you have no money. 

Mobb. (l. c.) His bill at three months is as good as 
gold at any market within a hundred miles. 

Eli. But you are not going to-night] 

Far. I must, love. 

Eli. Law, George, what makes you so melancholy? 

Far. I don't know — I — I — 
« Eli. But I do : you are worrying and vexing yourself 
because you are unable to buy this land to-morrow. 



SCENE III.] THE GOLLEN FARMER. 19 

Far. You're right, Bess; but perhaps something may 
turn up that you little dream of, 

Eli. Why, what a silly man you are to let such a trifle 
as that annoy you ! — We can do without it ; and what 
matters if it does destroy the uniformity of the farm. 

Far. Yes, but that trifling addition would enhance the 
value of my farm in an almost two-fold degree. 

Mohb. [hnpaiientlj/.] Come, come. 

Far. Good bye, Bess, good bye ! 

Eli. Good bye, George ; and God protect and guide 
you in what's right. 

Far. Eh! 

Mohb. Come, — [Aside.] or you'll lose your land and 
your two hundred and fifty to boot. 

Far. Right — right. Good bye, Bess ; and Heaven bless 
thee till I return \-^^— [Aside.] And now, then, for the last 
crime I will be guilty of. [Exeunt Mohb and Farmer, i.. 

Eli. (c.) I don't know how it is, but I almost feel as if 
I could cry with the thought that I shall never see him 
more ! How strange ! Psha ! I'm getting as silly as he 
is about the plot of land ! No, no ; he's too good, an'd 
we have hitherto lived too happily, for aught but death to 
cross us ; and when that happens, all I pray is that the 
same flowers may bloom over us both. [Music — Exit, r. 

Scene HI. — Moonlight — A Jwuse, enclosed, loith a high 
wall, on the top of ivJiich are large, long s'pikes, l. u. e. 
— a town in the distance — Ham7ner^s house, r. — trees are 
seen over the ivall of the garden, full of fruit. 

Hammer. [Singing without?^ 
" Don't you know I'm the beadle of the parish 1" 

Enter Hammer, l. 

Ha, ha! these harvest homes are rare things. Here 
have I been singing and tippling, tippling and singing, 
'till I've sung and tippled myself tipsy. This is very 
wrong, for a man in office to be a man in liquor. Ha, ha ! 
if a man doesn't get drunk, how is he to know when he's 
sober. Now, then, to rouse my better half — [Knocks at 
the door?^ My dear, my sweet. I shall hid her open the 
door, and she'll hid me begone. My love ! my duck ! 



20 THE GOLDEIN FARMER. [Act I. 

Mrs. II. [At the window.] My goose ! — what, you've 
come home drunk again ! 

Ham, No, my dear, only a little 'toxicated. 

Mrs. H. Then where you got drunk you may sleep, for 
the devil a bit do you come in here to-night. I'll cure 
you of coming home in this beastly state every night in 
the week. 

Ham. But, my dear, the dew^s falling. 

Mrs. H. Yes, and your rent's due ; and if you waste 
your earnings in drink, how is it to be paid ? 

Ham. I see I must show my authority. Madam, would 
you leave your lord and master — auctioneer, churchwar- 
den, and undertaker, to lie in the street 1 

Mrs. H. You may lie in or lie out of the street, but you 
shan't make me lie any more. I promised I'd sarve you 
BO, and I'll keep my word. 

Ham. I bid you open the door. 

Mrs. H. And I bid you be off. 

Ha?n. Then I'll knock the door down in spite of your 
being the highest bidder. 

Mrs. H. If you dare to make the least noise, I'll alarm 
the neighbourhood, and have you taken up for burglary ; 
and then we shall see how an auctioneer, churchwarden, 
and undertaker, will look, paying five shillings to the ma- 
gistrate to-morrow morning, for disorderly conduct ; so, 
good night, my dear brute. [Closes the window. 

Ham. That's a knock-down argument : she has me there^ 
and she has me here. Oh, you stony-hearted catamaran, 
ill take you to Smithfield with a halter round your neck, 
and sell you to the highest bidder. There'll be an altera- 
tion for you, you rip of a rib ! If we live much longei 
together, I shall shorten the life of that woman, and be 
transported for manslaughter. What am 1 to do 1 no 
wife, no bed % I can't go back to my friends, it's too late ; 
and to kick up a row would be a direliction of duty. Du- 
ty ! now I think of it, Mr. Peter Piebald, the money-lender, 
asked me to have an eye on his premises to-night, as he 
was going to town in a great hurry, in consequence of his 
brother's death. So I'll lie down here and take a snooze. 
Stop, I may as well put up a notice. [ Writes loith chalk on 
the wall in large letters, " HI HAM ON THE WATCH."] 
That's what I call having an eye to businpss, \hies doion 



Scene III.] THE GOLDEN FARMER. 21 

against the wall.] There, and wlien my wife opens the 
door in the morning, she'll find me a knocker. [Hammer 
goes to sleep under the wall on which he has written ^ l. of 
stage.— Music. 

Enter Jemmy Twitcher, r. u. e., with a ladder, looking 

cautiously round, and beckoning on Old Mobb and the 

Golden Farmer, disguised and masked, 

Jem. All's right as a trivet. 

Mobb. Are you sure no one is in the house 1 

Jem. Not a living creature. 

Mobb. Then while we enter by the front, do you keep 
watch in the rear, and be ready to assist us in our escape, 
should we be surprised and forced to retreat over this 
wall. Mind, a whistle from you or us must be the signal 
of alarm on either side.— [To the Farmer.] What, man, 
are you asleep 1 Where are the skeleton keys and cen- 
tre-bit ! 

Far. Here — here. Would I could retreat ! 

Mobb. Damnation ! Is not two hundred and fifty pounds 
worth venturing any length for 1 And here you have it 
without risk or trouble. 

Far. Come on, then, and you shall find I have not for- 
gotten my old skill. 

[Exeunt Farmer and Mobb behind the wall. 

Jem. My eyes ! how cold it is ! Now, I never could 
manage these skeleton keys and centre-bits. How pre- 
cious cold it is ! I'll try a drop of that brandy as I stole. 
[Drinks,] Blow me, if that isn't regular good stuff! — 
[Drinks agai?i.] I suppose they're in by this time. [Drinks.] 
Nice apples and pears, them ; how my fingers do itch to 
be at 'em. A good thought ! Here's the ladder — and they 
von't have done this hour. [Places the ladder against the 
wall and ascends — Music] Oh, crikey, vhat beauties. I'll 
take up the ladder for fear any body should valk off with 
it. [ Takes up the ladder?^ Curse these here spikes, how on- 
kimmon awkward they is. 

Ham. [ Yawning?^ Oh, lord ! I'm almost frozen. If 
my wife causes me to catch my death, I'll swear my life 
against her. 

Jem. [Seeing lights pass in theJiouse.] They're at the old 
miser's shiners. 



22 THE GOLDEN FARMER. Act II. 

Ham. Eh ! Shiners ! I'm in the shade, and the moon is 
the only shiner I see. I'll walk a bit, or else I shall be a 
stiff one before morning. What do I see — lights in old 
Piebald's house 1 \^Gets up and walks underneatli where Jern,- 
Tny is gathering t^e apples, and filling his pockets and hat 
with them — the hat slips out of his hand, and the apples 
come showering on Hammer's head.] Oh, lord ! here's a lot 
I didn't bid for. 

Jem. Oh, I've lost all my apples and pears. Never 
mind — it's on the right side, and so I'll get dow^n. [Puts 
down the ladder, the bottom of which lights on Hammer's 
shoulders, with his head between the two uprights, Jemmy 
pushing his head down in adjusting the ladder. 

Ham. Hollo ! Here's something going on wrong here. 
I must not call out or I shall alarm them, and they'll es- 
cape. I'll go and get assistance. 

Jem. How much longer this ladder appears than it did 
just now. [Music — Hammer endeavours to move the ladder 
off his shoulder, just as Jemjny is putting his foot on it to de- 
scend. The weight forces Hammer to the ground, and Jem- 
my, losing his footing, is caught by one of the spikes, and re- 
mains suspended in the air by the hind part of Ms inexpress- 
ibles. 

Ham. 4* Jem. Murder ! Murder ! Thieves ! 

Mrs. H. [ Thrusting her head out of the toindow, r., 
screaming and springing a rattle.] Murder ! Help ! Help ! 

Enter Mobb, l. u. e., and the Golden Farmer, masked^ 
they present pistols to Watchmen, who enter r. and l. 
Mrs. Hammer, thinking them robbers, empties a basin of 
water on them, and the drop falls. 

END of act I. 



ACT II. 

Scene I. — Interior of the Golden Farmer's House — a win- 
dow c. F. — a door in flat, r. of c. — a staircase, leading 
to an upper open apart7rient at the back, from icliich, by 
placing a ladder, you may ascend to the roof- — on the 
door pof.t arc two largn -faples, fo adhiit ahar of ivood^ 



Scene I.] THE GOLDEN FARMER. 23 

the common fastening of form-house doors — a corner cup- 
hoard, R. — 07ie table, three chairs, one under window — 
holt against flat — time, sunrise-— -the sun shining through 
the window, c. f. 

Blow music. — Elizabeth discovered, near the tables' with 
Louisa sitting on her knee. 

Eli. Four days, and George not returned ! How strange 
— how very strange ! — He never stayed beyond one day 
from home ; and, anxious for my peace of mind, he al- 
ways sent me word. — Oh, this agony of suspense is in- 
^supportable ! 

Lou. Why does'nt father come home, mother % 

Eli. I know not, child — I know not ; would that I did ! 

Lou. Oh ! I do so long to kiss him ! — Don't you, mo- 
ther .' — Why do you cry, mother % You'll make me cry 
if you cry, and father says I'm naughty when I cry. 

Eli. True, my dear ; true. 'Tis seldom, since we wed- 
ded, that aught has caused a tear to dim my eye ; but now 
they will flow in spite of me, as if some calamity had be- 
fallen us. [-4 knocking is heard at the door.] Ah ! 

[The 2/ rise, 

Lou. Oh, here's father ! 

Eli. Should it be — But no ! a man is not used to stand 
on ceremony at his own door. 

Enter Hammer, feeping in at door in flat. 

Ham. It's only I ! I come in without bidding, 

Lou. Have you brought father with you 1 

Ham. No, my "dear. 

Lou. Oh, I'm so sorry ! 

Ham. Is he from home ? 

Eli. Yes ; he has not been home since Monday last, 
now four days. 

Ha?n. That's strange ! — He called on me last Tuesday, 
to complete the purchase of that plot of land I spoke to 
him about, when he no sooner settled, than he went to a 
lawyer, and made an assignment of the whole over to 
you and your child. He said, he thought it was the better 
way to secure it to you, for fear any ill luck should hap- 
pen that might deprive you of it. 

Eli. What idle tale is this 1 



24 THE GOLDEN FARMER. [Act II. 

Ham. No tale, I assure you, madam, unless it is this, 
red tail which is attached to the deed. Here, madam, is 
the assignment, which I was requested by the lawyer to 
deliver into your hands after having witnessed it ; so your 
own eyes may convince you of the truth of what I assert. 

[Giving her a parchment. 

Eli. It is so, indeed ! 

Ham. Indeed it is, and so securely yours, that, were 
-your husband to be hanged, not all the lawyers, including 
the devil, who was the first, could deprive you of it. 

Elt. Did he assign no reason ? 

Ham. No— he only assigned the estate. 

Eli. Did he send no message ? 

Ham. None but the messuage included in that deed. 

Eli. Did he not say where he was going ] 

Ham. He said he was going home, and I thought he 
was gone. But why this alarm, madam % There's no- 
thing to fear. Thank you, I will take a little refeshment 
from your comer cupboard — I don't want a bidding, you 
see. \Goes to the corner cuphoard^ and takes out a hottle^ 
containing jive wine glasses full ^ and helps himself to a glass 
of brandy.] Your health, madam ! Going — going — gone! 
— [DHnks the first glass off.] Won't you take a little ] — 
Don't say no, if you won't, you're quite welcome. Bless 
my soul ! I forgot to drink your husband's health.— Here's 
the worthy Golden Farmer! — Going — going — gone ! 

[Di-inhs a second glass. 

Lou. You musn't drink it all ; leave some for poor fa- 
ther ! 

Ham. Bless my soul, I quite forgot you ! I'm glad you 
reminded me of it; your health, my dear, — Going — going 
— gone. — [Drinks a third glass.] Bless my soul, my me- 
mory's going ! Yes, it's certainly going ; for if it had 
not been for that brandy, I should have gone without giv- 
ing you a military letter I was requested to bring to you 
from the neighbouring town. 

Eli. A military letter ! It must be from my dear bro- 
ther. 

Ham. Have you a brother in the array, then 1 

Eli. Yes ; our father and mother died some six years 
ago, when he was but quite a boy; he enlisted, and I have 
never seen him since, though we have often heard of his 
g"ood conduct and advancement. ^Readhig. 



ScEWEl.] THE OOLDEN FARMER. 25 

Ham. Read away, don't mind me ; a military letter 
ought to be read, you know. [Laughing.^ Ha, ha! Bless 
my heart, how remiss I am ! I beg your pardon. Your 
< brother's good health, and, miss, may the brave soldier 
never want arms. If I was a soldier, I should say, may 
he never want legs. — Going — going — gone ! 

[Drinks a fourth glass. 

Eli. He writes me he will be here this very morning, 
and that he is now a Serjeant. 

Ham. Oh, the army is a glorious profession ; and if it 
was'nt for the drillings and the marchings, and the fight- 
ings, I don't know but I should have been a hero myself. 
But curse those bullets, they knock you down, and you're 
gone before you know you're going. 

Eli. He may be seeking us in the villnge now. I will 
hasten there, and at least leave directions for the easy 
finding of us. Perhaps I may hear something of George, 
too, by the way. Come, my dear. 

Ham. Did you speak to me ? 

Eli. No, sir, to the child. Come, Louisa, I will go and 
see after your father. 

[Exeunt Elizabeth and Eouisa, l. d. f. 

Ham. Going — going — gone, without even a wink or a 
nod wink. I beg leave to say, madam, that your coi] duct 
is quite ungentlemanly ; and if you were a man I should 
knock you down. What spirit brandy gives a man ! Bless 
my soul, I forgot to drink to myself. Hammer, my boy, 
here's your uncommon good health and success, because 
you're a damned good fellow. Going — going — [D7~in7cs 
his Jifth and last glass, and places bottle and glass on the 
table,] gone. And now I'll be going. How my cyc3 
twinkle ! girls, look out, or I shall wink at you most un- 
commonly. [Laughing.] Ha, ha, ha ! Going — going — 
gone ! [Exit at the door in the fiat. 

Jemmy Twitcher jpeeps in at the window, 

Jem. No von here ; then in I goes, and no mistake. 
[Music. — Enters cautiously at the windoiv.] All's right. 
What a transmogrification ! I as vos vonce a spy for Old 
Mobb and Caj^tain Strike, am now a spy for the /^officers. 
Veil, vot ov it 1 they gived me five pound to turn king's 
/'evidence, and bring them as is guilty to condign punish- 
c ' ' 



26 THE GOLDEN FAHMER.v Act II. 

merit. Veil, it's wery odd liow they found out all about 
Old Mobb and the farmer's cracking that ere crib vere I 
vas skewered up in the air, and that the farmer should 
break prison and escape arter he'd been found guilty, 
afore they vas up this morning, and afore they could hang 
him to-morrow. I vender vhere he is 1 They thinks as 
how he's com'd home. Come home ! I think he knows 
a trick worth two o' that. There seems to be no fastening 
to the door, and yet some'at is intended to go in here.— 
[Pointing to the wings.] Vy, it's big enough to put an arm 
in. [Sees the bar.] Oh, this is vhat fastens the door. Do 
you call that nothing? [Takes the bar.] My rum un, I 
makes you a valking-stick, and valks you off. Now for 
the vindow. Eh ! I heard some von. Should it be the 
Farmer — Yell, vot ov it? Vy, if he finds me here, shan't 
I catch it, neither? [Music.-^He is going off at the door^ 
when it slowly opens y and he conceals himself behind it. 

Music. — Enter the Golden Farmer at the door, haggard 
and pale, his clothes in disorder, and part of an iron 
fetter on one leg. As he advances to chair r. of table, 
Jemmy wliips from behind the door, and exits through it. 
Far. So, here I am again, and for the last time, beneath 
the roof of my once happy home, that a crime, which 
had not the palliation of want to excuse, has forever de- 
prived me of. Ah, man ! man ! when happy, not satisfi- 
ed ; when rich, still grasping for more ; could you be con- 
tent with enough, how much better would be thy lot here- 
after ! My cup of fortune was full, but I must needs run 
it over, and have lost all. The wish to see my poor wife 
and child) whom I have dishonoured, instead of making 
my escape, is rash ; but the hold they have upon me seems 
to supersede all other considerations. I will but take a 
last farewell of them, and then hasten to save myself and 
them from the disgrace of an ignominious death. But 
where are they % No one here? Can the strong arm of 
the law have molested them ! 

Enter Louisa, running in at the door in flat. 

Lou. I'm at home first [Sees the Farmer.] Oh, father, 
is that you ? [Rumiing to him.] I am so glad to see you ! 

Far. [Kissing her ra'pturoush/.] Are you, my dear, are 
you? 



Scene I.j THE GOLDEN FARMER. 27 

Lou. That I am; and so will mother. Oh, I must run 
and tell her. Mother ! aiother ! father's come home ! 

'[Exit at door. 

Far. Do I not deserve to die a thousand deaths, to 
bring misery on such a wife and such a child ! 

Eli. [ WitlioiLt\ Where is he ] George ! 

Enter Elizabeth, at the door. 

Oh, George, how happy has your return made me ! Where 
have you been % How pale you look ! Are you ill, 
George ? Your clothes seem torn. Have you been rob- 
bed? 

Far. Don't name the word, for heaven's sake don't. 

Eli. Why that gaze of horror % You are ill, let me 
fetch assistance. 

Far. No, no ; no one must know of my being here ! 

Eli. You alarm me ! Tell me, dearest George, what 
is the matter % 

Far. Oh, my bonny Bess ! This is, perhaps, the last 
time I may ever call thee so. 

Eli. For Heaven's sake, speak ! 

Far. I've but little time to spare, and the sooner it is 
told the better. Elizabeth, look here ! 

[Showing the iron on his leg.] 

Eli. What does that badge of crime mean 1 

Far. That you see before you a condemned felon. 

Eli. [Starting back.] Gracious powers ! 

Far. You may well look at me with horror ; I deserve 
it. Hate me, and 1 may bear up against my fate ! 

Eli. No, no ; I have sworn before Heaven to love you 
— and through good and ill report you shall find me the 
wife you have ever known me. [ Throwing herself into his 
arms.] Oh, George ! did I ever think to see you thus 1 

Far. You have not known me truly till now. Before 
I met thee, the highway was my only means of living : 
after our marriage, I blended honester ways with the 
same evil courses, till I had amassed a sufficient sum to 
purchase this farm. Then, and then only, did thy bright 
example keep me from aught that was wrong, and I learn- 
ed to do right and was happy ; but this cursed plot of 
land, and the threats of an old comrade in guilt, again 
tempted me to commit a crime, which has proved my ruin. 



28 THE GOLDEN FARMER. [Act IL 

When I look around me, at thee, and at my child, and 
see what I might have been, and what I am; Oh, God! 
the thought will drive me mad ! [Falls into a chair, r. 

JEli. Come, George, George ! do not give way to des- 
pair ; something may yet be done to save thee. 

Enter Louisa, at tlie door^ running. 

Lou. Oh, father, there's such a parcel of men with 
sticks and guns coming this way ! 

Far. Ah ! then the bloodhounds have tracked me ; but 
they shall find I'll sell my life dearly ! 

[Reaches down a gun. 

Eli. For heaven's sake ! add not murder to your other 
crimes! Fly! save yourself! — The assignment of the 
farm to me is in my possession f I will sell it, and rejoin 
you in some foreign clime, and we may yet be happy. 

Far. These words have given me new life. Farewell! 
farewell, my child! Something tells me we shall meet 
again. [Going to the door, l. s. e.] Ah ! they are within 
fijPty paces ! — 'Tis impossible to escape, then ! 

Eli, No, no ; 'tis not impossible : bar the windov. 
while I secure the door; that will gain some time ; thoii. 
ascend that landing place by the aid of the ladder, and 
make your way through the thatch. You can easily pass 
along the roof to the outhouses unperceived, and once in 
the fields, I trust you may evade pursuit. Away, away 1 
[ The Farmer hars up the window, and then makes his es- 
cape up steps, L. 3d E,, and goes off, appearing again at the 
opening in the Jla( — above the door and window raises a lad- 
der and ascends, and exits, r. — Elizabeth hastens to the door.] 
Ha ! the bar's removed ! — How to fasten it — Nothing can 
save him !^ — Ha ! thank heaven for the thought ! [Pushes 
her arm through the staple?[ This will hold them out a 
while. Haste, husband ! [Noise without and an attempt 
$0 force the door.] If you attempt it, 'twill cost you dear : 
my husband is well armed, and death will be the conse- 
quence. [Music. — She seems to suffer great pain, and, on ano- 
ther attempt to force the door, cries out.] For mercy's sake, 
hold back, and I will let you in. [She draws out her arm^ 
which has blood upon it, and staggers forward, c, with her 
child . 



Scene I.] THE GOLDEN FARMER. 29 

Enter Officers, hastily, at the door in flat. 

ist Offi. Ha ! he has escaped ! 

Eli. \Sinliing on her hiees.] Thank heaven ! thank hea- 
ven ! 

1st Offi: Never mind, it's his w^ife's fault ! and as I dare 
say she's a party concerned in the robbery, we'll let you 
know what it is to thwart the law. [Lays hold of her arm 
violently, she screams, and clings to her child with the other.] 
Take that brat away. 

Eli. Oh, for mercy's sake, part not a mother from her 
child ! 

Lou. Mother, mother ! 

1st Offi. Take it away, I say! 

Eli. Oh, my child ! my child ! 

Lou. Mother ! mother ! [Mutic, 

Enter William Harvey, hastily, in flat. 

Wil. [Interposing.] Ruffians, let go your hold, or, by 
Heaven, I'll cleave the first man in two who refuses ! — 
[ The oflicers draio bach.] Sister ! 

Eli. Oh, Wilham, is it you 1 

[ Throivs herself in his arms. 

Wil. When T learned from the slander-teeming tongues 
at your crowded door your wretched situation, the sight 
of my sword soon made a passage for me to your side. 

1st Ofi. Mind, young soldier, you are intercepting us 
in our duty. 

Wil. Is it your duty to insult a helpless female 1- — [To 
Elizabeth.] Cheer up ! I'll protect you against more odds 
than I now see before me. 

1^^; Offi. She has assisted in the escape of a felon. 

Wil. And that felon was her husband. A wife proves 
a man's only friend when all else desert him, and is this a 
crime ] The man escapes, and you would vent your pal- 
try spite upon a weak, defenceless woman ! For shame ! 
— shame ! 

1st Offi. Shame ! 

Wil. Ay, shame. If the blush of shame comes not in 
your cheek, it does in mine, to think I am classed by na- 
ture with such petty tools of power, whom it were a base 
slander to term men. 



'30 THE GOLDEN FAKMER. [Act II. 

1st Off}.. Never mind : we're only losing time talking to 
you, so v/e'U go and look after the prisoner; we can find 
her at any time, if we want her. 

\_Exeunt Officers, S^c. through door injiat, r. c. 

Wil. Come, Elizabeth, cheer up ; cheer up ! Thei'e, 
lean on me. Courage, lass. In me you have a firm 
friend, and one that will never desert you in the hour of 
need. [Leads her to the table, and 2)l(^ces her in a chair y 
then takes the cJiild on his knee, and the scene closes. 

Scene II. — Front grooves. — A Wild Country. — Storm, — • 

Thunder and Lightning. 

Music. — Jemmy Twitcher enters. 

Jem. My eyes ! how it is a showering down. Veil, I'm 
blowed if this an't a coming it, and no mistake. Instead 
of being dry under that ere bush, I'm quite wicy warcy. 
Veil, vot ov it] Better that than fall into the grip of the 
Golden Farmer, who, ven his monkey's up, vould go 
through me like a flash of lightning through a gooseberry- 
bush. Now, I've got the reward, and 1 won't let them 
grab me agin, if I can help it, for they may not let me 
off so easy as they promised. There, my purty screen, 
you valks into my pocket ! [Puts Jive pou7ids into his side 
coat pocket. — Hammer sings without, l.] Hey ! here's a 
vet soul a-coming, howsomdever, only he seems to have 
been diluting his vater with some'at stronger. Veil, vot 
ov it ] Perhaps he may prove one of my wictims. 

[Retires, r. 
Enter Hammer, l., singing. 

Ham. "Happy and glorious — long to reign over' us !" 
I've a strong suspicion it is going to rain over us, as I feel 
my shirt getting wet. Well, a short reign and a merry 
one. [Laughing.] Ha, ha ! [Sings.] " On him be pleased 
to pour." But not this precious shower, or I'll be wet 
through. It's extraordinary what a little has effect on 
me! I can't help doing as other people bid me ; it's pro- 
fessional, and comes so natural to me, that, let me take 
what I will in hand, I always feel as if I was going it. — 
[Laughing,] Ha, ha! going — going — [Moves to B..—Je?nmy 
advances to r. corner. 



Scene Il.j THE GOLLEN FARMER. 31 

Jem, Please to bestow your charity on a poor horphan, 
vot has no father nor mother, and vot is left prostitute a 
top of the vide vorld. 

Ham. I've no coppers, little vagabond, so go to your 
mother, 

Jem. Got none. 

Ham. Go to your father. 

Jem. Have you got a little sixpence \ I'm sure you're 
good-natured. 

Ham. No, I've not : it's my duty not to be good-natured 
— I'm a Churchwarden. 

Jem. Vot, are you one of these hard-hearted covies % 

Ham. Impudent little vagabond ! I'll collar you, and 
take you before a magistrate, and have you whipped. 

Jem. I'm vipped if you do, though. 

Ham. Ha ! do you dare resist a man in authority'? If 
you dare only to wink your eye, I'll knock you down. 
Stand still till I collar you. \'H.e makes a rush at Jemmy ^ 
who slips aside to l. corner, and Hammer falls prostrate 
close to R. wing. 

Jem. Set 'em up— 

Ham. Well, well, help me up, and I'll let you off this 
time. There, easy there, do it easily. 

Jem. 1 While helping him up he empties Hamjner's breeches 
and waistcoat pockets, and takes from his left pocket a ham- 
mer — pocket hook, handkerchief, two daguerreotypes, hunch 
of keys, and snuff-hox — from his right, a large piece of chalk, 
and a watch from his fob.] it's the easiest job I ever had 
in my life. 

Ham. [Laughing.] Ha, ha! I'm not so heavy as you 
thought. 

Jem. Nor yet so heavy as you was. 

Ham. I've strong suspicions I'm drunk : do you think 
any one can perceive it 1 

Jem. No, not without they look uncommonly close. 

Ham. My clothes are soiled, though, with this fall. Take 
my handkerchief out of my pocket. [Beels to r. corner. 

Jem. Do what ? 

Ham. Put your hand in my pocket, and take out my 
handkerchief 

Jem. I never puts my hand into other people's pockets 
— 'cause vhv ? T miorht be takin some'at. And shan't do it. 



32 THE GOLDEN FARMER. [Act TI. 

Ham. Oh, you honest little rogue, come to my arms. 

i Embraces liim?^ But how could you take any thing when 
'm looking at you % [ Taking off his coat to feel in his pock- 
ets.\ It's not there. Then I've a shrewd notion it's gone. 
That's very strange ! No one could pick my pocket in 
this place, because I've seen no one who would do such a 
thing. You would not put your hand in my pocket when 
I told you. 

Je7n. No, not vhen you told me. 

Ha?n. No, no ; I used it just now. 

Jem. Perhaps the wind has blowed it avay. 

Ham. Blow the wind ! Here, help me on with my coat. 
[Jemmij changes his own coat for Ham,jner^s.^ Thank ye. 
How the rain has shrunk it. Give me my hat. [Jemmy 
changes hats, and pushes his own nearly over Hammer^ s eyes.] 
Thank you. How the rain has stretched my hat ! It 
comes down quite over my eyes. Thank you, little vaga- 
bond : if you come to our parish for relief, I'll pass you 
to your own. Good bye. Steady ! stea — [Running a- 
gainst the zoing.] I'm going— going — -gone. [Exit, n. 

Jem. Veil, and vot ov it 1 Turn me upwards, if this 
is'nt vot I calls a reg'lar built go. I nivir had such a haul 
afore : a votch vot von't go, but now it's gone ; a viper 
vot vos blowed away; a purse vhat has sixpence in it ; 
and keys vot has nivir a lock. [Laughing.] Ha, ha! I'm 
getting on, and finds I picks up some'at daily. Vhy, 
vhere are they 1 [Feeling his coat-pocket.] Veil, if I an't 
struck all of a heap ! Vhy, if I an't changed the coats 
without taking the priggings out ov my pocket, and have 
let him valk off vith all the plunder, and the five pound 
note as vas giv me for diskivering the farmer to the hoffi- 
cers. Nivir mind — I've got the coat and hat. My eyes ! 
I shall be quite a swell in this upper toggery. [Looking 
off, L.J Hey ! vy, here's another ov 'em. 

[Conceals himself behind the bush, r. 

Music. — Enter The Golden Farmer, l. 

Far. So, I have escaped them, and once more breathe 
the air of liberty ; but what have I lost 1 Wife, child, all, 
all gone, and I become an outcast of society and my coun- 
try, a prey to fortune, and hunted down like a wolf. Oh, 
that the lightning would strike this heart-broken trunk, 
and end my miseries at once. 



Scene II.] THE GOLDEN FARMEK. 33 

Jem. [Aside — peeping in the Farmer* sface.'\ The farmer ! 
Oh, crikey ! I'll cut my stick. 

[ Crosses hehind the Farmer to r. 

Far. [Turning, sees him stealing off.] Ha, a spy ! [The 
Farmer goes off, r., and drags Jemmy on to centre, ivho kneels 
with his back to the audience.] Nay, then, you shall never 
live to carry the intelligence by w^hich you w^ould set the 
blood-hounds on my track. You are grappled by a des- 
perate man, one whom care has driven almost mad ; there- 
fore sw^ear not to betray me, or this moment is your last. 

Jem. Oh, crikey ! you'll stop my vizen ! 

Far. Ha ! that voice — Jemmy Tv^itcher ! 
' Jem. Veil, vot ov it 1 

Far. Thou cold-blooded rascal! not content, by your 
")V7n damning evidence, w^ith taking the lives of two men, 
who have ever served you, do you come to exult over the 
/uin you have made % 

Jem. Certainly not. 

Far. If I am to be hung, the world shall at least be rid 
jf two scoundrels at the same time. [The Farmer nearly 
chokes him, when pistols are fired, r., and the Farmer, whom 
the shot has struck, relaxes his hold, and passes to r. wing. 

Jem. Who are they firing at 1 [Looks at the Farmer, 
who opens his waistcoat, tokens of hlood on his shirt.] I'm 
blow'd if you an't got your valking ticket. 

Far. That shot has befriended us both, in having saved 
thee thy life, and me from an ignominious death. 

Jem. I'm wery glad of it ; and if you ever catches me 
in your clutches again, I gives you leave to scrag me out- 
right. 

Far. The blood flows fast, and I feel as if life were go- 
ing. Oh, my wife, my dear, dear wife and child. When 
I am dead, who will protect them "? 

Jem, The Brewer. 

Enter Countrymen and Officers. 

1st Off. There he is ; I khowed I dropped him. [ They 
group around him.] What, we've caught you at last, have 
we, my covey % 

2d Offl. Oh, it's all gammon, man. Dr. Lancet will 
bring him too in time to be hung with his pal, Old Mobb, 
for whom the gallows was nearly erected when we came 



34 THE GOLDEN FARMER. [Act II. 

away. So, hoist him up, we can get a cart in the next 
village. [Tivo countrymen hear off the Far^ner^ r., and the 
Officers are following, when Jemmy takes a handkerchief 
foam, the left pocket of the 2d Officer, who, missing it, strides 
after Jemmy, loho runs l. — 2d Officer 'pushes Jemmy on the 
stage to 1st Offcer, who stands threatening him with a stick. 

1st Off. Who the devil are you ] 

Jem. I'm Mr. Jemmy Twitcher. 

1*^; Off. But I say, my slippery one, where did you get 
this toggery 1 

Jem. I exchanged with a gentleman just now, and he 
took the difference in his pockets — 

1st Off. Without his consent, I suspect ; so you must 
go along with us till we knows the truth on it. 

Jem. Veil, I'm sure exchange is no robbery, are it 1 

1st Off. Come, if you rides rusty, I'll ruffle you. Move 
on ; put your pins in motion, or I'll give you a topper. 

Jem. Don't you know me'? 

1st Off. No, I don't. 

Jem. Don't you know me % 

2d Off. No, I don't. 

Jem. Veil, if I goes, I'm blowed if you shan't carry me 
too. [Lies down. 

1st Off. Never mind — hoist him up. My rum on, I'll 
sarve you out for this. 

Jem. Go it. \^ings.- — Tie kicks about , and after some 
difficulty, they carry him off, k. 

Scene III.* — -Front Grooves.— A handsome Chamber in the 
House of the Secretary of State. 

Enter Lord Fitzallan and 1st Officers. 

Fitz. The man is then sufficiently recovered to suffer 
the extreme penalty at the time appointed ] 

1^^ Off. Yes, my lord. 

Fitz. If any petitioners in his favor seek me, let them 
be admitted. [Exit 1st Offcer.^ Though I cannot give 
them hope, I can at least satisfy them that their petitions 
re^ch the proper quarter ; but that stern necessity com- 
pels this enforcement of the laws, to check the hourly in- 
crease of crime. 

" Thisjscene is sometimes omitted in the representation. 



Scene III.] THE GOLDEN FARMER. 35 

Enter 1st Officer. 

1st Offi. My lord, the wife of the man you spoke of just 
now, craves an interview. 

Fitz. Admit her instantly. [Exit 1st OJicer.^ Poor crea- 
ture ! The world little knows the tears and supplications 
of the unfortunate, against whom men in power are oblig- 
ed to shut the door of feeling. 

Enter Elizabeth, Louisa, and William Harvey. 

Eli. [Falling on her ]i,nee.\ Oh, sir, pity, pity. 

Fitz. Rise, good woman, rise ! 

Eli. No, no, I cannot ! I beseech you let me remain 
thus till I have won your heart to pity — to pardon. Oh, 
my lord ! My husband — save him ! My life is his ; and 
if the law exacts his forfeiture, it exceeds the bounds 
prescribed to it, in taking two lives for one. The hour 
that dooms him dead, will break the heart of the wretched 
wife who now kneels to you, and leave parentless this 
poor innocent. 

Fitz. The proofs were so numerous and clear against 
liim, that were he pardoned, all our former executions 
v/';uld have been murder. 

Ell. Oh, say not so ! Kneel with my, my child ; hold 
up thy little hands — sue with me for thy poor father's life ! 

Wil. Oh, my lord, if within your power, make one 
more effort; for though I am by profession used to sor- 
rowing sights, such affliction is more than either you or I, 
I see, have courage to witness unmoved. 

Eli. Heaven demands but blood for blood ; and his 
hands are as guiltless of that crime as are this child's. 
That justice which claims life for life is strict : but v/hen 
she claims life for gold, she loses the attribute of Heaven. 
Mercy, my lord ! Oh, be merciful ; and may you ne'er 
need it at your latest hour ! 

[Falls ivceping on her child's sJioulder. 

Lou. Pray, sir, don't make mother cry 1 Pray do not. 

Fitz. Well, I will use my interest once more in his be- 
half 

Eli. Oh, sir, I cannot speak my thanks ! 

Fitz. Do not buoy up your fnind with too much hope ; 
for I tell you, 'twill to an almost certainty be blighted. 
But, what can be done shall be done. 



86 THE GOLDEN FARMER. [Act IL 

Eli. [Kissing his 7iand.] Oh, sir, my heart's too full to 
express my thanks in words. 

Fitz. Compose yourself ^come, be calm ! — prepare 
yourself by prayer to submit to the worst with resigna- 
tion. I will forward the result of your application to the 
gaol. I will mention to the king the lives your husband 
saved, when the village was nearly consumed by fire : it 
may have its due effect. Should I fail, it shall not be the 
fault of him who, though a statesman, and is ever thought 
by the unthinking world to lack it, has a heart that can 
feel for the woes and distresses of his fellow-creature. 

[Exeunt, Fitzallan r., the others l. 

Scene IV. — A Condemned Cell. — The Golden Farmer 
discovered seated, with Louisa on Ms knee, and Eliza- 
beth seated beside him, leaning on his shoulder. 

Far. Pray, do not weep, Bess, do not weep ! Keep thy 
eyes bright to look on better days. 

Eli. Oh, that better days were in store for us ! 

Far. Why, what is this life that all so dearly love — that 
kings will give their crowns for '? The miser will part 
with the hoardings of many a year but for an hour of thee 
— and the spurned beggar will linger through. disease and 
poverty, rather than part with one second of his allotted 
span ! Thou'rt but an April day, a little day, whose 
sunshine and storms are scarcely worth the working for. 

Eli. Oh, talk not thus; fortune, at the worst, returns to 
better. 

Far. You and the sweet babe are the only ones that 
can now give value to this wretched life. 

Lou. Father, you have so wet my cheeks. 

Far. Have I,, child ] Never mind, love. 

Lou. No, I won't, father, if you promise not to do so 
any more. 

Far. [hjipressively .\ You must mind, when 1 go on the 
journey I'm about to take, that you are very good to your 
mother, and love her dearly, or I shall not love you. 

Lou. That I will, father ! 

Far. Bless thee, my pretty pet ! bless thee ! 

Lou. Ah, you're crying again ! Let me kiss away your 
tears. 

Eli. Oh, Heavens ! this is beyond nature to endure. 



Scene IV.l 



THE GOLDEN FARMER. 37 



Ev'ter William Harvey, l. 

All, speak, is he free 1 is he free ] is he free 1 That look 
of sorrow — 

Wil. Calm yourself, Elizabeth, hope for the best — the 
certainty is not yet known. Be seated. Is this the way 
to comfort your husband in the hour of affliction 1 

Eli. I am wrong; but you know not what I suffer. This 
agony of suspense is worse than the certainty of death. 

Wil. \Jipart to the Farmer. \ Courage ! Prepare for the 
worst, for an hour's life is not yours. All efforts in your 
favour have failed, and the sheriffs are already in attend- 
ance. 

Far. [Placing his hands over his eyes.\ 'Twas a bitter 
pang ! But 'tis past — and now I'm prepared for all. Re- 
move my wife and child — she never can endure the parting, 
if she knows it is for ever ! and though I have as much 
man as most about me, I should be more than man, could 
I see her distress unmoved. 

Wil. Sister, suppose we go to the office of the Secreta- 
ry again ; we may be more speedy in bringing good news 
than those less interested in despatch. [Bell tolls. 

Eli. \Screa??iing.] Ha! That sound ! then there's no 
hope. William, you have deceived me ! 

Wil. Come, come, let us leave this place. 

Eli. Never, never, but with my husband ! Oh, George, 
I cannot endure this; but let me not leave you now! We 
have lived happily together — let me, oh, let me die with 
you ! 

Far. Bess, my love, consider our child ; who is to 
watch its infant steps, and train it up in good, if we leave 
her alone in a wicked world 1 

Eli. Oh, I cannot survive this hour ! 

Enter 1st Officer, l., with warrant. 

\st Off.. Prisoner, prepare ! The Sheriffs move this 
way. 

Eli. Is there no mercy left % Oh, my brain will turn ! 
For the love of Heaven, spare him but for one hour, that 
I may once more strive to obtaiij his pardon ! Think me 
not distracted, I beseech you ; but if you have mothers, 
wives, or sisters, whom you love, listen to me, and grant 
my prayer! 



38 THE GOLBEN FARMER. [Act II. 

1.5^ OJi>. It is impossible ! [Elizabeth faints in the Far- 
mer's arms^^ Prisoner, we stay for you ; and you have lit- 
tle time to commend your soul to Heaven. 

Far. Take her, William ; protect her, cherish her — be 
a father, to my poor babe ! 

Wil. I will ; I will, by Heavens ! 

Far. Farewell, my darling ! Good bye ! You'll think 
of your poor father sometimes \ 

Lou. That I will, dear father. 

Far. Bless you ! [ To William.] Bring her up -to love 
her father's memory ; but never let her know his disgrace- 
ful end. [Music. — Kisses his roife. — Takes up his child., 
kisses it many times, and placing it in William's arms, 
sl/alces his hand, exclaiming,] God bless you ! God bless you ! 
[The hell is foiling. — Shout without, "The Golden Farmer 
is reprieved." The Characters re-enter with Jemmy Twitch- 
er. A general shout, and the Curtain falls. 

DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS AT THE FALL OF 
THE CURTAIN. 

Jemmy. Louisa. 



Officers. 




Officers. 


Elizabeth. 


Farmer. 


William, 


R.] 




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